Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.
And the gods argue about the program,
from News to Sports, Hades hates Wheel Of Fortune.
Now the god of earthquakes shakes in anger:
“What outrage! Great as he is, what overweening arrogance!
So force me, will he, to wrench my will to his?”
“I too want it my way too?” Poseidon growls.
“Three brothers we are,
all sprung from Cronus,
all of us brought to birth by Rhea —
Zeus and you Poseidon!
So am I, Hades the third, lord of the dead beneath the earth.”
Hades defends himself…
“The world is split three ways.
Each of us received his realm,
each should also have his own television.”
raising a stink
Sitting there at Jetty Road feelings were
awakened, the need to water the plants.
Did he really have to use one of these
silly looking green white plastic boxes which
stank so much just for the sake of taking a leak?
How gross these boxes were, how unnatural.
And as kids they used to practice who
could piss the highest and the furthest
over fences and up tree trunks
and it was clean fun.
They never wetted
maybe they still do.
He was gagging as he unzipped
his pants in the unventilated green plastic box
where equally green flies where feasting from undescribable
discards.What an insult these in-humane-out-houses were to the lungs
of any breathing creature, who was being protected by those
dis-ease breeeding sanitation devices?
He saw: The Park Ranger coming.
He heard: “The park closes in ten minutes!”
He smelled: Iodine salt and humidity.
His fingers touched: The ignition key, it turned.
His tongue tasted:
Hot tamalis from Watsonville, Mexican style
spareribs from Marina, by small hands, Korean hands
Apfelstrudel from Seaside, at the Stammtisch
a round trip 4-2
in less than three hours
for under thirty bucks.
Spoiled rotten he used to take
all he could get.
And he wondered if Deborah
might be still be available after all.
If necessary he would tutor her
yes he was desperate
therefore such made sense.
HATE & love
I love myself so much
FEAR of the unknown, the dark, the evil, I hate.
…the tastes I love:
Rich texture of abalone;
Neutral taste of fresh oysters;
And Tae-Hui’s Kim-chi.
FALSE accusations I hate!
…the sights I love:
Lush green forests;
Fog-banks over Mon terra;
Tahoe’s curtains of gently frozen rain;
EVIDENCE of unspeakable chemical reactions, I hate.
…the smells I love:
Scent of seaweed;
Salty brine the oceans’ sweat;
Fresh meaty flat fishes cooked over an open fire;
Salmon smoked over apple wood;
Honey and bee pollen;
Old ginseng root.
APPEARING in the news, biological warfare, I hate.
…the touching I love:
The tender lips of my lover;
Her fingertips exploring;
Down feathers’ comfort of my bed;
Microsoft’s Keyboard having something to write;
A full ripe juicy Fuji apple;
My tongue and Italian icecream dripping from the cone.
REAL monsters, the Idi Amins of this world, I hate.
…the sounds I love:
Twirling, swirling, gargling
Carmel river swollen from
the winter rains frolicking splashing
over rocks and sand rushing
on its way to spill out in the sea;
The wind’s melody playfully counting
each artichoke on the thistle bushes surrounding Castroville.
Bill Minor playing with the Abalone Stompers
on the deck at the River Inn;
The roaring of the motor cycles
leaving Monterey after each cycle-race-weekend.
HATE? I hate to hate.
…love? I love to love!